With a couple flicks of the splint, the Bunsen burner ignites with a low pitched hiss. The heat from the flame warms my trembling hand. If I knew what chemicals I had I’d light some on fire but with my luck they’d be toxic. I knew I should have paid more attention in chemistry. Where’s Paul when you need him?
When the pack of my ravenous classmates are within throwing distance, I put on the brakes and toss the coat, launching it into the center of the pack. Apparently none of them were wide receivers in their living days. They look around, confused, but they’re too hungry to care about the vinyl bomb sitting at their feet.
I slide the open bottle of perfume across the floor, letting the liquid pour onto the tiles as it makes its way to their feet. The scent is strong but doesn’t cover the stench of death that’s overtaken the school. By the time they notice me, it’s too late. The spark catches.
My eyes fixate on the stream of perfume, combusting inch by inch. Within a matter of seconds the flames reach the pack of zombies and the fluorescent jacket patiently waiting for detonation.
The bottle explodes with enough force to blow off a few limbs. They’re not smart enough to run. Flames engulf them, charring their bodies beyond recognition. The scorching light of the inferno forces my eyes shut, but not before witnessing the first zombie collapse into an oozing heap of ashes.
They’re not human, I realize that, but it’s no less heartbreaking to watch. I knew these people. They’re not monsters. They’re jocks, band geeks, stoners, cheerleaders, mathletes, and not one of them deserves this. They don’t deserve it any more than I do and they’d hate what they were doing right now. They’d rather be dead.
It doesn’t take long for the last of the charred bodies to hit the floor in piles of undistinguishable human remains. If I weren’t so disgusted I would cry. It’s hard to tell if they’re moving or if the flames are melting their insides, causing them to cave in and crumple into mounds of molten ash.
The sprinkler system sputters before turning all the way on, accompanied by the ear piercing cries of the fire alarm. Carefully stepping over the burning corpses and pockets of fire the sprinklers have yet to extinguish, I pull my shirt up over my nose in a failed attempt to escape the nauseating stench. What’s left of a hand reaches for my foot. Flakes of torched skin fall from the decrepit fingers but it refuses to die. I have no choice but to kick at the flaming skull, pus seeping from the crumbling sockets where its eyes used to be. The head rolls off the second my foot makes contact, melting onto the wet floor in a puddle of blackened blood.
I slam into the door, desperate to get away from the dissolving bodies. “Hurry! Get out! Now, before more of them come!”
Mr. Vasquez looks at me questionably, a flag pole in his hands, presumably to use as a weapon.
“Go, now! Straight ahead and down the stairs. Run!”
“Noah?!” Paul squeals, rushing towards the front of the room. “Noah, what the hell are you doing?”
“Saving your ass. Paul, you have to go, now.”
He opens the door and surveys the damage caused by the perfume explosion. His eyes travel up and down my blood covered body. It’s clear, he knows but isn’t sure if I do. I know. I nod, on the verge of tears. If coming in contact with it is all it takes, I’m gone. The sprinklers won’t wash it away.
He shakes his head vehemently but I can’t keep his gaze or we’ll both break down in tears. I look past him.
Something’s off. Mr. Vasquez is bleeding from the stomach through his ripped shirt, yet he doesn’t appear to be infected, the cut on his button-down looks clean, like it came from something sharp rather than a flesh crazed corpse on the hunt for dinner. Then I notice Shaun Mayer in the back corner of the room, shaking uncontrollably, switchblade in hand, surrounded by tipped over desks, mumbling something to himself that sounds an awful lot like the Lord’s Prayer. Everyone else is in the other corner, as far away from him as possible. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened. I can’t blame the dude for going crazy but now is not the time for mental breakdowns. He must have cut Mr. Vasquez when he tried to calm him down or maybe when he tried to take the knife away. I bet the zombies were drawn to the smell of fresh blood.
“Noah, what’s going on out there? And I swear to God if you tell me they’re–”
“They are, Paul. The hospital, the SWAT team, this is what’s going on. This is what happened. It’s bad. It’s really fucking bad. One of them bled all over me.” I can’t find it in my heart to tell him it was his girlfriend. “The blood was enough to turn Mr. Adams, it wasn’t a bite. It was on his skin. I’m lasting longer than he did but I don’t think I have much time left.”
He continues to shake his head, not wanting to believe the words escaping my mouth. I continue anyway.
“I already got Doug, Shane and Kristen out. Find them, stick together.” No one else is moving so I scream at them. “Get out of here! Run!” My yelling must snap them out of it because they all scurry towards the door. “Don’t touch any of the blood.” Paul doesn’t move, he’s just standing there, staring at me in dismay. “The only way to kill them is to make sure they can’t move anymore. Burn ’em, rip their heads off. Nothing else works.”
“What’s gonna happen to you?”
I shake my head solemnly, my eyes never leaving his.
“No. No, there has to be something we can do. I’m not leaving you here. I’m not letting you turn into one of them.”
“Paul, you have to go. Please. Save yourself.”
Neil Buckley stops on his way out, one of the last to leave the room. It looks almost painful for him to do but his eyes meet mine and he nods. He doesn’t need to say anything, I don’t think words mean a whole hell of a lot at a time like this. I simply nod back. I don’t see Neil ‘The Asshole’ for once, I just see little Neil running on the track beside me, trying desperately to be faster than someone he just can’t beat. Sometimes I’d let him win, I felt bad for the way his dad would yell at him when he didn’t. The scared little kid nods in appreciation before leaving the room.
“Noah.” Paul is crying now, shaking his head violently. “I can’t leave you here. Maybe my dad can help or he might know someone who can. They might have a cure. Come with me. We can drive straight to the hospital. I’ll fix you. I’ll work day and night, I swear.”
The tears burn my eyes because I know he would, he won’t rest until he finds a way. I always thought he’d be the one to cure cancer. Never in a million years did I imagine we’d need a cure for, for Zombie. I’m not resting until I get him out safely. He can change the world. I never cared that he was a bit of a nerd, he’s my best friend and he’ll be better than his sorry excuse for a father no matter what he decides to do; doctor, surgeon, medical scientist or freakin’ cart boy.
“Alright, I’ll go with you. But when I start turning, you have to leave me.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“Okay, Noah, I promise.”
I can hear screaming and moaning but it’s coming from the other direction, somewhere around the corner. As long as the stairway is clear I should be able to get him out safely. But I don’t run right away. Shaun Mayer is still sitting in the empty room, cradling the bloody switchblade. I feel bad for the kid but I’ve done all I’m willing to do. Maybe it’s the zombie blood running through my veins but I leave him there without a second thought, the same way I left Felecia.
Our feet pound off the saturated tiles as we run for our lives but neither of us say a word. Over the high pitched ringing of the fire alarm I can make out bits of broken glass being trampled. That should be the last of them exiting the building, I hope. If it’s zombies, I’ll be able to tackle them and give Paul enough time to get away. But I can’t tell him that. There’s no way he’d go along with it. I understand, if our situations were reversed, I wouldn’t let him do it either.
The stairs are empty. I thank a god who must really hate us all. How could he let something like this happen? I m
ean, come on, zombies? What the hell causes a person to sit up after they’ve died and decide, you know what, I think I want to eat me a person? Is it some government experiment gone bad? Is Heaven full? Is Hell? Is this some fucked up disease that someone might actually find a cure for? A modern day black plague? Could the military be testing some sort of new biochemical weapon and just failed to mention that we were the guinea pigs? I wonder what would happen if one of these things bit a guinea pig. Are there zombie animals? Will I know when I’ve completely turned? Most importantly, when the hell am I going to wake up?
I plop down on the bottom step.
It’s time.
CHAPTER 8
“Go, Paul, run.”
“Noah, you can’t do this to me.”
“Save yourself.” I moan in pain, bending over, hoping he can’t see me. “Get out of here.”
Paul turns and runs for the door, surprisingly following my orders. He pauses beneath the handlebar, on the threshold to freedom. “I’m gonna find a cure, Noah. I’m coming back for you.”
I moan again to keep myself from crying. I just want to leave with him. Maybe we could find the others and make a run for it, together like we should be. I don’t know, steal a tank and shoot down hungry corpses all day. The last thing I want is to turn into one.
I can’t watch him leave me here so I keep my eyes focused downward before closing them. I might as well shut them while I still have the option, I doubt zombies sleep. I have a front row seat to the armageddon but I can’t even watch. Is this the great flood to wash away all of mankind? I can’t help but feel like we had it coming, we brought this on ourselves.
Paul’s feet crunch over the broken glass outside the door and onto the sidewalk that sounds more like a raging riverbed. I feel bad tricking him but it was the only way to get him out of the building. There’s no way we could ride in a car together, I’d probably turn and kill him before his foot had a chance to hit the brakes. I had to do it. It was the only way to save my best friend.
To be completely honest, I thought I would have turned by now. Maybe my desire to live is making me last longer. Mr. Adams certainly didn’t have much of it.
I’m not ready for my life to be over. I might as well make the most of my time. I have to find Caylee. I’ll check every room in this building if I have to. As I get ready to head back upstairs, something down the hall grabs my attention. It sounds like a dirt bike. There’s yelling, more like a primal scream than a ‘please don’t kill me’. Through the broken door and into the hallway, I follow the peculiar sound.
Then I spot him, standing there with a handheld power saw, yellow extension cord running to the wall. He’s wearing an orange protective jacket and a welder’s mask that looks more like a face plate. Blood splatters the once pristine hallway as he slashes through a kid’s neck. If it wasn’t for the gray ponytail, I’d have no clue who I was looking at.
“Marty?”
The convulsing body drops into a puddle of blood, losing its head somewhere in the sea of destruction. If I didn’t know better I’d think this were the butcher shop, not a high school hallway.
My bus driver’s gloved hand lifts the protective mask, revealing his puffy gray mustache and wrinkled skin. “Noah! There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Get over here man!” But he stops mid-thought. His facial expression suddenly changes. “Aw, dude, please don’t, don’t tell me that’s their blood.”
I nod and stop walking, careful not to scare him by getting any closer. “It’s been at least a couple minutes but probably more like ten. I don’t know what’s taking so long. I should have turned by now. Please, Marty, I don’t wanna become one of them. You gotta put me out of my misery. Just make it quick.”
“You want me to kill you before you become one of ’em,” he says, rather than asks. He’ll do it. He loves zombie movies, books, graphic novels. He’s probably been waiting for this day to come, preparing for it even. He knows what he has to do.
I close my eyes and step closer, tilting my head so he can get a clear shot at my jugular. I hope it kills me instantly. What are the odds I’d be able to find Caylee before I turn anyway? This is one gruesome way to die but it beats the alternative.
“Fuck, man, I can’t kill you.” Even in the middle of a zombie apocalypse he still sounds stoned. “You might not even turn, if it’s not in your bloodstream. I mean, who knows? We don’t know what the fuck’s going on here. Tell you what, you try to eat my brains, I’ll do it. ’Til then, let’s kill some zombies. This shit is great. Here, here, take a power tool. Not the nail gun though, that one don’t do shit.”
“Marty, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Aw man, I was dropping a deuce in the ladies’ room.” He must see the questionable look on my face because he continues before I can ask. “No, no, nothing pervy. The mens’ was being cleaned. Besides, when given the opportunity I like to shit in the little girls’ room and leave it there, festering in the toilet because come on, let’s face it, nobody expects a sexy little high school chick to drop something big and nasty like that. I’m wiping and one of those sons of bitches comes barging in on me. It was a dude for your information, so I wasn’t the only one. You know, zombies really should get their own bathrooms, call me prejudiced but I ain’t trying to play battleshits with one of them things. But boy did he pick the wrong dude to burst in on. Here, take the saw, this one’s pretty sweet bro.”
“Marty, as much as I’d love to stay and kill zombies with you, I’m trying to find someone.”
“Okay, cool. Let’s go. What’s her name?”
“How do you know it’s a girl?”
“Come on man, there’s walking corpses everywhere, who else would you be willing to fight off a bunch of zombies for?” He unplugs his extension cord and wraps it around his arm.
“It’s Caylee. But just to be clear on something, I was looking for Paul too. I just found him already.”
“No way,” he laughs. “Lemme guess, hot sister?”
“What? No, well, yeah I guess but that’s not the point, it was him I was trying to save.”
“Okay, okay, but you do know that saving her brother from zombies is like a free pass into her panties, right?”
“Gonna have to take a raincheck. I doubt she’ll wanna do a zombie.”
“Hey, don’t think like that. She might be into freaky stuff. Now come on, let’s go find this hot little piece of ass you’re looking for. And if you don’t want the saw, take a power drill, battery operated.”
I take the tool from his hand and give the trigger a squeeze. What I can only assume is the biggest drill bit he could find spins a few times, flicking blood in all directions. I ignore the human hairs wrapped around it and tell myself it’s not as bad as it looks. And although it’s positioned in my hand like I’m ready to use it, I’m not sure I’ll be able to drill a hole in anything’s head, regardless of its dead or undead status.
Marty follows me up the stairs. I don’t know for sure that Caylee is still up here but while I draw living breaths, I have to try to find her. She at least deserves a reason why I won’t call to solidify plans for our date tonight. Wait, I can call her. I stop abruptly at the top of the stairs to pull out my phone and the piece of paper she handed me.
“Uh, dude, you really think now’s the best time to be calling a phone sex hotline? I’m not saying I’m against it or anything…”
“Shut up, it’s not a 900 number.” We continue our way down the hall, the opposite direction I went last time. “It’s ringing.”
Around the corner and down a few rooms, three zombies are pounding on the wall. Well, two of them, the other one is just staring at her hand like she’s trying to read her palm. Have they lost their minds? Forget it, stupid question.
“Help me,” she whispers, her voice shaking on the other end of the line. “Please help me.”
“Caylee, it’s Noah. Where are you?”
“Noah. Oh my god.” She sounds amazed to hear from
me. In her defense, some guys don’t call for a week after getting a number, I don’t know, some sort of stupid guy ritual. A call from a boy during the middle of the apocalypse is a pretty good sign he’s into you.
Damn it. They must have heard me. All three of them turn from the wall and begin running. Marty’s looking around desperately for a plug, I have to hold them off.
“Marty, your mask!”
He pulls it over his face while I yell into the phone.
“Caylee, gimme one second, I’ll be right back.”
And with that I race down the hall towards the zombies. I bet this is the first time they’ve seen a person running towards them rather than away. Talk about fast food.
I slide at the last second and even though I haven’t played baseball since little league, I do a damn good job. My body connects with two of them. They go flipping over me and land awkwardly while the third one stops running and doubles back. I’m not sure how much good it’ll do but my finger slams against the trigger, powering up the drill. It’s spinning so fast I can feel the breeze on my hand before he takes his first step towards me.
I don’t want to do it but I don’t have much choice. I ram the drill bit into his throat, spraying blood and shredded skin everywhere. A little hole in the windpipe isn’t enough to stop these things so I throw all my weight to the side, bringing the drill along with me. The rotations slow as it digs through cartilage for an extended moment before ripping through. I close my eyes, not only to stop the splattering blood from getting in them but so I don’t have to see the chunk of flesh flapping wildly on the end of the drill. Hopefully by the time I open my eyes it’ll have flung off.
The sound of Marty’s saw fills the hallway and my eyes burst open. One of them is running straight towards him, no clue what’s about to happen to her. The other one’s headed in my direction.
Some of the nearby lockers are open, probably from the kids who were at them when the first announcement came over the intercom. None of us knew the severity of the situation at the time. Had someone told us, we wouldn’t have believed them. Zombies are something you talk about with the crazy bus driver, they are not an actual threat and they certainly don’t invade small town high schools in northern California.
Blood Type Infected (Book 1): No Future For Man Page 5